


Drawing a Blank

by victorianvirgil



Series: Sextember (2019) [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Artist AU, Explicit Sex, M/M, anotha sextember boys, artist’s block au, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: Virgil is an artist, a painter, who has never felt more uninspired. Roman just wants Virgil to succeed, to please his boyfriend however he can.





	Drawing a Blank

Minutes dragged on endlessly as he stared at the blank canvas, trying to decide what to paint. Anything. He could’ve painted quite anything– any world, any scene– but there he stood, having a staring contest with a menacing slab of nothing. Virgil refused to endure another agonizing moment of painting the same ocean scene he always wound up forcing himself to paint. Frustratedly running his hands through his hair, he let out a defeated sigh, and tucked the useless paintbrush behind his ear.

A soft knock on the doorframe caused him to avert his gaze away from the failed attempt mocking him silently. He forced a halfhearted smile.

“Hi, Ro,” Virgil said, his tone significantly more exasperated than he’d intended.

Roman leaned lazily against the doorframe, wearing his ‘Saturday scrubs.’ He sported grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that hugged his crossed arms. Virgil tried desperately not to let his gaze linger on Roman’s toned arms.

His brown hair was slightly disheveled, haphazardly pushed up and out of his eyes, which slowly drift from Virgil to the empty canvas.

“Hm. I take it you’re struggling?” he asked. Virgil let out a huff in response and turned away from him. Irritatedly, he began searching for his paintbrush within the clutter on the newspaper-clad floor.

Roman plucked the neglected paintbrush out from behind his ear and handed to him.

“Why don’t you paint what you’re feeling?” he suggested in a low voice, attempting to ease Virgil’s frustration. Virgil shoots him a pointed glance, eyebrows furrowing.

“What I’m feeling? What are you, some kind of shrink?” he retorted, the words having left his mouth before he could stop them. Roman shrugged, coyly diverting his eyes towards the ground.

“You don’t have to listen,” he said with a sigh. “I just thought it might help. Just… think about it.”

With that, he turned and exited the room. Despite his reaction, Virgil pondered on the suggestion.

What I’m feeling?

Virgil grunted quietly, hauling himself off the ground.

He made his way to his supply closet, and began to rummage through it.

Virgil returned to the lifeless canvas with a plethora of new supplies– paint bottles, cans, whatever he could get his hands on.

After painstakingly prying the lids off each paint can, he picked up a detail paint brush, the little one, which Roman had previously handed to him. He covered the fine bristles in inky black paint, dragging it across the coarse cloth. Where he was going with the line, he was unsure. Virgil gave a sideways glance at the line, before deciding that he was not pleased with it. Not pleased with the idea, not pleased with the entire situation. He slammed the brush on the table, finally deciding to paint how he was feeling.

In place of the brush, he submerged his hands in paint. The left one in red, the right in black. Pulling his paint-coated hands out of the paint, he stared at them. This was what he felt.

Frustration- he was an artist, failing at the one thing he was good at. He was an asshole to the one person he actually cared about.

Why?

He raked his hands over the canvas, smearing paint over every inch of white. The aggressive image began to take form, a mess of black and red streaks and smudges. He kept going, as if the painting would show him the bigger picture, all the answers he searched for.

Peering up at the wreck of a canvas, he sat back on the ground, paint smeared all over his hands and arms. He stared at the canvas with an empty, faraway gaze.

Roman had re-entered the room, but when, Virgil wasn’t sure. He touched his face, holding his chin comfortingly. Virgil knew Roman was used to his breakdowns, they had become an almost regular thing. Roman brushed his thumb over Virgil’s lips. He didn’t look up.

“Virgil, it’s fine,” he began, softly. Virgil ignored him. “Virgil.” He kept his gaze fixated on the ground.

“Mira!”

Virgil snapped up at the sound of Roman speaking his first language. He finally looked into his eyes. They were honey-colored, and warm. And they were gentle- vulnerable- something he saved for Virgil alone. He watched as Roman studied his face which he still cupped in his hands.

“Roman.”

“Hmm?”

“Kiss me,” he said, his voice certain- more so than he had expected it to be.

Without another word, Roman pressed his lips to his. A broken sigh escaped Virgil, as Roman pressed a hand to his chest. Virgil stumbled back, and extended his arm out behind him for support, which resulted in him submerging his hand into a can of paint. Too involved to care, he hastily dragged it out, desperately clutching on to Roman’s shirt. Without the support of the paint can, Virgil dragged Roman on top of him. Their bodies were flush together, and Virgil let out a breath as they hit the ground. Roman began to pepper his jawline with kisses.

Virgil cradled the back of his neck in one hand, while the other toyed with the hem of his shirt. He trailed his lips from Virgil’s jaw to his neck, getting more and more desperate with each one. He lingered in one spot on his neck, sucking gently on the skin. Leaving his mark. He made his way back to his mouth, biting his lower lip before kissing him again. Virgil let out a quiet groan, tangling his fingers through Roman’s wavy hair. He shakily grabbed his hip as the other hand trailed down his back, trying to push up his shirt. Roman straddled his waist, pulling his shirt over his head. Virgil’s eyes raked over his exposed upper half a few times, savoring the sight before him. Boldly, he shoved Roman forward, hard, and climbed over him. He placed a small kiss on his collarbone, smirking when he squirms a little underneath him, cheeks flushed and groaning softly. He traced his sternum with his finger, his tongue trailing after it. Roman’s breath hitched in his throat as Virgil dragged his tongue up the base of his neck, stopping to kiss the shell of his ear.

Virgil fumbled at Roman’s zipper, fighting to pull it open. Roman shuffled out of his pants, the outline of his erection prominent in his boxers. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of Roman’s exposed skin, smears of black and red paint covering his body where Virgil had touched him.

Biting his lip, Virgil tugged on Roman’s waistband, exposing his length. Virgil ran his fingertips over his hardened cock before wrapping his lips around the head.

Roman let out a low moan, tangling his fingers into Virgil’s hair.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

The tips of Virgil’s fingers drifted towards Roman’s entrance, while he continued to suck his cock. He slid a digit in, pausing to watch how Roman responded.

Roman squirmed underneath Virgil, shifting to adjust to the intrusion. As soon as he relaxed, Virgil removed his lips, and added another finger. He was rushing, but he was desperate.

Groaning, Roman bucked his hips against Virgil’s hand, begging him to move. He obliged, thrusting his fingers into Roman quickly.

“God, Virgil, fuck me.”

Virgil smirked, undoing his own pants, and quickly aligning himself between Roman’s legs. He pushed into him, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. Roman responded with a quiet moan, and Virgil felt the sound rush straight to his groin, beginning to pick up the pace. He continued to rock into him, forming a steady rhythm as he sloppily stroked Roman’s cock.

“F-fuck, Virgil–” was all Roman could manage, before he came hard, the white substance painting his chest. Virgil finished himself off with a few quick, uneven thrusts. He pulled out and collapsed next to Roman on the layers of newspaper.

Breathing heavily, he looked towards the other man: beautiful, cheeks flushed, and covered in paint. He smiled.

“How are you feeling now?” Roman asked.

Breathlessly, Virgil responded, “Inspired.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! i apologize for the inactivity but i’m big stressed with school rn:/ i don’t have much to say rn, but i hope you guys like this!


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